


The Meaning of Pie

by spnredemption



Series: Redemption Road [28]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnredemption/pseuds/spnredemption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"If we ever get past all this, I think I'd like us to find a house somewhere…"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meaning of Pie

**Author's Note:**

> **Masterpost:** **[Supernatural: Redemption Road](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/1552.html)** (for full series info, warnings, and disclaimer)  
>  **Author** [](http://squeemonster.livejournal.com/profile)[**squeemonster**](http://squeemonster.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Characters/Pairing:** Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby, OC and canon characters  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Word Count:** ~8,300  
>  **Warnings:** language  
>  **Beta:** [](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/profile)[**zatnikatel**](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Note:** This is part of our collection of **[DVD extras](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20dvd%20extras)** — outtakes, deleted scenes, missing scenes, and episode tags/codas that take place before, during, or following an aired episode. This coda follows **[Dreamcatcher](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/29923.html)**. 

Castiel has grown to look forward to the regular visits he and the Winchesters make to Bobby's house. He views the man's home much as the brothers do now, which is to say as a touchstone, as home base. He presumes that other homes may be more comfortable, less dreary and cluttered, but he wouldn't trade those places for this. It holds so many memories for him in his new life, and represents the potential for his new start with the Winchesters.

Bobby's place is also where he has learned many of the positive things that come with being almost human, as well as discovered facets of Dean's personality that he never had time to enjoy before, when his treachery kept him on the move lest Zachariah find him, and when his war and his guilt kept him from Dean's side. He has learned how much Dean loves to put things together, and tinker with machinery; and he has learned that Dean loves to teach as well. Castiel now knows more than he ever wanted to know about carburetors and pistons, and isn't above faked ineptitude if it means Dean will slide an oil-stained hand up into his hair to pull him close, stare into his eyes, and order him to _fuckin' listen properly this time, Cas_.

One idiosyncrasy that Castiel has learned about himself is his fondness for pie, to Dean's unending delight. Castiel loves every kind of pie he has tasted so far; loves the flaky, buttery golden crusts, as well as the soggy, doughy, heavy crusts. He loves the fruit fillings, the custard fillings, the nutty fillings, and the chocolate fillings. He dollops his slices with whipped cream, because _spray cream is for heathens, Cas_ , or vanilla ice cream if it's available and if Dean says it's essential to _the full pie experience, dude_.

He appreciates what a slice of pie represents to Dean after a grueling day of killing that week's monster, or trying to figure out what the mysterious _fish-guy-mutant-fuckin'-zombie-sonsofbitches_ they're tracking might be plotting. Much like the Impala, it represents a sense of home, something Dean can always turn to as a symbol of comfort, of warmth and love. In this life, it's nice to know that a slice of pie can bring back those feelings with just the scoop of a fork.

So having homemade pie at Bobby's, even if it's thawed, microwaved pie that Bobby's late wife Karen baked during her brief return from the beyond, is pretty much Dean's – and now Castiel's – version of the perfect homecoming.

During this latest visit, Bobby has gotten it into his head that he wants to clear out what's left in his freezer, and this includes Karen's remaining pies. "They've been in there so long they have freezer burn," he barked as he made the announcement. "If they don't get eaten soon, they'll have to go in the trash, and I'd rather eat the damn things like she wanted than waste them."

That logic made sense to everyone, especially when it ended with bellies full of homemade pie. Now, two days later, they're down to the last pie. The last slice, in fact, as apparently someone – though Castiel suspects Sam and Bobby also know it was Dean, since it's _always_ Dean – had snuck into the kitchen in the cover of darkness the night before to gobble down a third of it.

The brothers and Bobby are outside, where a tree on Bobby's property succumbed to a lightning strike the night before, and Dean and Sam are taking turns to slice branches off and chop them up into more manageable logs for winter. Bobby is bossing them around, complaining about their inferior stacking abilities, and Castiel is thirsty, and also somewhat weary of Bobby's yelling and Dean's endless jokes about a recent chainsaw massacre that apparently took place somewhere in Texas.

He drifts away, indoors and into the kitchen, takes a glass from the cupboard, turns on the faucet and pours himself a drink of tepid water. As he gulps it down, his eyes wander to the pie plate on the counter. He wipes the errant drops of water off his mouth with the back of his hand, places the glass in the sink, and pulls a fork out of the utensil drawer.

Leaning over the counter, he eats that last slice of homemade pie off the pie plate, not even bothering to put it on its own saucer. The crust is, admittedly, soggy from being in the freezer for so long, and the filling could be fresher. As he chews, he muses that it probably would have tasted better if he had warmed it in the microwave for a few seconds. But he doesn't really mind, because the pastry is still delicious, made ever more so by being the very last piece.

As he swallows down the final crumb of the very last bite, Castiel leans back against the kitchen counter, the edge of it digging into the small of his back. He closes his eyes as he sucks on the prongs of the fork, making sure to lick every last speck of crust and apple left on them, since—

"Dude! What the fuck?"

Castiel opens his eyes to find Dean standing in front of him, sweaty and dirty, with a look of righteous indignation marring his features, indignation that ramps up to a frown. It troubles Castiel, because Dean's mood has been lighter since the dream they shared, since he fought back against the vision of Alastair and the memories of the Pit that have weighed him down for too many years, and he reaches a hand out to touch Dean's elbow, feeling the need to provide comfort. "Is something wrong, Dean?" he queries.

Dean bats his hand away. "Uh, _yeah_ , pieburglar, there's something wrong. You just ate the last piece!"

Castiel stares at Dean for a moment, waiting to see if Dean will elaborate. When no further explanation seems to be forthcoming, he says slowly, "Yes, I did. Why does this upset you?"

Dean releases an exasperated sigh and rolls his eyes. "You didn't even ask if anybody else wanted it first. You just snuck in here and ate it."

Castiel narrows his eyes, staring at Dean as he replays the accusation his head. "Dean, why would I ask if anyone else wanted the slice when I wanted it?"

Dean folds his arms across his chest, a petulant look on his face. "Because those are the rules," he snaps. "If there's only one slice left, you're supposed to ask around and make sure nobody else calls dibs."

Confused, Castiel asks, "Why would I do that? I wanted the pie."

"But what if someone else wanted it, too?"

"How would I even know if there was a possibility that someone else wanted it?"

"That's why you ask, Cas!"

"But if I wanted it, why would I ask if anyone else wants it first?" Castiel tilts his head and puzzles as Dean becomes more agitated.

Dean throws his hands in the air. "Because that's how it's done in polite, civilized society!"

Loftily, Castiel tells him, "I hardly think you're the leading example of how polite society works, Dean. This _dibs_ you speak of sounds like something you fabricated to convince me I was wrong to eat what I wanted. It was there, I wanted it, it had no one's name on it, no one else was there claiming it—"

"Aha! _Aha_!" Dean points a dirty, smug finger in Castiel's face as he goes on. "So you admit that if someone had been there to claim it, then you wouldn't have eaten it."

"Yes, but no one _was_ there, so I ate it," Castiel answers slowly, in the hope that it will help Dean catch up, and then he adds, thinly, "Perhaps if that slice had been so important to you, you should have been in here eating it yourself instead of out there chopping wood. Inefficiently."

Dean's jaw goes slack as they stand there, silent now, facing each other in a standoff. A few moments pass before Bobby blusters into the kitchen. He pauses on his way to the sink, his eyes blinking between the two men.

"What's gotten into you two boneheads?"

Neither of them spares a look at Bobby. They continue their stare-down, but Dean does eventually answer.

"Cas ate the last piece of pie without even asking if anyone else wanted it first." His eyes narrow as he smirks at Castiel, obviously expecting the older man to side with him.

"Oh, for the love of Christ." Bobby stomps to the sink, turns on the faucet and begins to scrub his hands clean. "Dean, I'll buy you another damn pie when I go to the store tomorrow."

Castiel shoots Dean a smirk of his own as he watches his friend's eyebrows tent in dismay.

"Bobby, you know a store-bought pie isn't the same. I wanted homemade pie."

"And what in hell have you been eating the past two days?" Bobby snarls over his shoulder. "Beef stew? Shut your trap and get back out there to finish up the firewood."

Dean opens his mouth to protest, but shuts it quickly at the look Bobby gives him. Castiel watches with fascination as Dean grinds his teeth, the muscle along his jaw flexing in frustration, and he wonders abstractedly if Dean moves his mouth that way when he has his lips fastened around Castiel, when he's working Castiel with his tongue. It's a pleasant concept, one that almost makes up for the accusation that he is a _pieburglar_ , and he files it away as a question to ask Dean later.

After Dean has left the kitchen, slamming the screen door behind him, Bobby twists off the faucet, turning to look at Castiel as he's drying his hands. "You know, you _are_ supposed to ask if anyone wants the last piece before you eat it," he remarks. "It's common courtesy."

Castiel squints. "But why would I ask if I knew that asking meant there was a very good chance I wouldn't get to eat the pie?"

Bobby sniffs. "I'm not saying it's logical, I'm just saying that's how people get along. There's rules and etiquette that people go by in order to live together without killing each other. That's one of 'em." He shrugs, and makes his way out of the kitchen.

Castiel's gaze follows the man's exit, and he contemplates just how very peculiar humans can be.

  


A few days later, Bobby returns to the house from a grocery run.

"Marcy Ward told me her cousin up in Redfield called her this morning," he declares importantly, as the brothers and Castiel help him unload the beer and groceries in the kitchen.

At Castiel's raised eyebrow, Dean grins. "Marcy has the next property over," he supplies. "Bobby lubes her wood-chipper every now and then." He tries and fails to duck a swift clip to the back of his head, scowls and rubs at the sore spot as Bobby continues.

"Said cousin is complaining about a wild dog taking over their town." He pauses meaningfully. "A wild dog built like a pony."

Sam raises an eyebrow as he stares at Bobby across the kitchen. "Oh really? It wouldn't happen to be some kind of huge hairy thing with inexplicably human-like features, would it?"

Bobby chuckles. "No, more like scaly with spines down its back."

Dean visibly perks up with that information. "Oh man, a chupacabra? I was starting to wonder if those things really existed."

His face splits in a smile that arrows its way straight to Castiel's heart, and Castiel basks in its brilliance for a moment, as he deposits the potatoes and carrots into the crisper bin of the refrigerator. "Is there a history of chupacabras in this area?" he inquires politely. "I wasn't aware of any incidences of them in this region."

"No, as far as I can tell, this is probably just an isolated case. Least, that's what we hope, though I don't know how just one would get up here." Bobby pulls a large package covered in white butcher paper out of his bag and stows it in the ice-crusted freezer.

"You want we could go up there, check things out? Can't be more than a three or four-hour drive, right?" Dean grunts. He spies cookies in a bag behind Bobby, but gets his hand slapped as he reaches to swipe them away. "Ow, Bobby, unnecessary!"

"They're my cookies – you want some, you either ask nicely or get your own." The older man shuffles the cookies into a drawer set back in a corner of the kitchen, taking care to make sure a small plastic tag securing it remains intact.

Dean scoffs when he sees the device. "Child-proof locks, Bobby? _Seriously_?"

"I haven't found any cookies missing yet, so it must be working." Bobby's eyes twinkle as he looks at the trio. "Yeah, I was thinking maybe since the three of you don't seem to have anything better to do than laze about here and hassle me, you could go up there to see what you can find. I really wasn't wanting to call Garth if I can avoid it. Me and him's kind of reached an impasse as far as how much of an asshole we each think the other is."

Sam snorts. "Yeah, we can go do some scouting. Might be good for us to get out and stretch our legs a bit, do a routine hunt for a change."

Grinning, Dean reaches out to boff his brother in the shoulder. "Hey, maybe you should call Mira, see if she'll come with," he teases. "You can keep each other warm on the stake-out."

As Sam rubs his shoulder and casts Dean a hard eye, Castiel clears his throat.

"If it would be alright with everyone, I'd prefer to stay behind."

Dean swivels his head to stare at Castiel. "Uh, why? Since when do you choose to sit out on a hunt?"

Castiel detects the pout that Dean is valiantly attempting to hide, but for the sake of Dean's pride he chooses not to address it. "I believe I would be more help in this instance if I stayed to translate the shipment of Sumerian texts Bobby received last week."

"Hey, my Sumerian may be a little rusty, but that don't mean I need you to translate it for me," Bobby says.

"My apologies, Bobby," Castiel hurries out. "I don't mean to imply that I could do a better translation than you, merely that I could get the job done much faster given my extensive knowledge of the subject."

Bobby rolls his eyes. "That makes me feel so much better." He spares a look at Dean. "You need to teach your angel the fine art of apologizing."

Dean smirks. "Oh, I don't know, he's gotten pretty good at apologizing. At least with me he has."

"Gross, Dean." Sam stands up from his seat at the kitchen table and stretches. "I'll get us packed up. We might as well make good use of the daylight."

Dean smiles and holds Castiel's stare as he walks past him, taking a moment to circle his fingers around Castiel's wrist and squeeze it lightly as he goes. "Yeah, sounds good. Hey, Bobby?" He glances over his shoulder. "I saw that pot roast you hid. If you eat that before we get back, I'm hiding all your underwear in the freezer."

"What makes you think I wouldn't like that? Sometimes it feels good to have a cool breeze down there."

Dean blanches. "I think I just threw up in my mouth."

Castiel smiles as he watches Dean trot up the stairs, Bobby cackling behind him.

  


As Castiel and Bobby are standing on the front porch watching the Impala grind away down the gravel driveway, Castiel senses Bobby turning his head to stare at him.

"So, what's the _real_ reason you wanted to stay behind? You know as well as I do it'd take you next to no time to translate those texts. And besides, the odds of there being anything in there we need is negligible at best." Bobby pulls his cap off his head and runs his fingers through his hair.

Castiel looks at him from the corner of his eye, clears his throat. "I thought…I'd bake a pie."

"You... _what_?" Bobby leans against the railing, eyebrows furrowed as he stares at Castiel.

A sigh escapes Castiel's lips. "I feel remorse for eating the last slice of pie. And there are so many things I can never make up for, but this is something I can make up for. So I thought I'd bake a pie. Dean said homemade is better than store-bought, so I wanted to surprise him with it. And you and Sam, of course."

Bobby chuckles. "Of course."

"I fear I've no clue how to bake one, though. Do you know how?" Castiel looks hopefully at Bobby.

Shaking his head ruefully, Bobby says, "Sorry, son. I haven't got the first inkling how to bake. And I doubt Dean even remembers what happened with that pie. I don't see why you want to bother with it."

Castiel stares out into the junkyard, his focus intent on the dull and beaten black metal of a car similar in shape, if not beauty, to Dean's own. "I just...we get so few opportunities to enjoy the small, meaningless things in life," he mutters. "I think we should grab onto our moments and enjoy them when we're afforded the opportunity."

The old man's gaze softens suddenly. "If your heart's set on doing it the hard way instead of mojo-ing one out of thin air, I might be able to find a recipe in some of Karen's stuff I've got packed away."

Castiel's heart warms at the thought of Bobby searching through his dead wife's belongings to help him. "I'd appreciate that very much, Bobby."

They stand in silence for a few moments then, eyes focused on nothing and everything before them, both clinging to the calm of an afternoon where the most pressing problem at hand is learning how to bake a pie.

Bobby finally breaks the quiet long enough to let loose a yawn. "Well, enjoy the moment or not, but what you're doing isn't meaningless." He snorts and turns to open the screen door. "Especially where Dean and pie are concerned."

  


Bobby does as he promised, and after forty-five minutes of rummaging through old notebooks stacked high in a hallway closet, he finds a yellowed and wrinkled piece of paper with a recipe for apple pie on it. It's jotted down in pencil, which makes it extremely difficult to decipher given how faint it is, especially combined with the sorry excuse for penmanship that Bobby's late wife called handwriting.

Castiel diligently presses the paper with his fingers, smoothing it out on the kitchen table to remove as many creases as he can. He squints down at the tiny writing, studying the faded words carefully, and his heart sinks as he concludes that some of the most nonsensical collections of letters resemble Claire Novak's text messages.

He asks Bobby for help in translating the shorthand, and Bobby fixes him with a baleful stare. "Sorry, boy, I don't have the Rosetta stone handy," he retorts. When the old man sees Castiel's dismayed expression he relents, but he's as flummoxed by his late wife's secret code as Castiel is. "It doesn't even look to be a complete recipe, which doesn't surprise me," Bobby notes. "I think she did most of her cooking by memory."

Castiel sighs and scrubs his mouth with his hand, a nervous tic that he picked up from Dean. "Does it seem to have most of the ingredients and instructions necessary?"

To his credit, Bobby looks apologetically at Castiel. "I really couldn't say, son."

Castiel takes a few seconds to let the familial sink in, and just like it always does it makes his chest feel a little tight, as Bobby continues.

"Guess you can always just give it a go and see what happens. Won't know until you try it."

Nodding, Castiel asks, "Would you mind taking me into town to pick up the ingredients? I know you just returned from the store, but I'd like to get started on this as soon as possible, given Dean won't be gone more than a day or so."

"Yeah, I have to go back to the store anyways, since I forgot to get the damn onions for the pot roast." Bobby grabs his keys off the table. "Let's go ahead and get this shit done so's you can get to baking, Betty Crocker."

Castiel doesn't know what a _bettycrocker_ is, or why Bobby would call him that, but he warms at the thought of earning an official nickname from the old man, and hopes he'll live up to it.

  


He does not live up to it.

Or rather, his first attempt – what Bobby calls a _practice snafu ahead of the real thing_ – at baking does not. In fact, it's a humbling lesson in failure and frustration. The dough for the crust falls apart in clumps and tastes of damp cardboard, the apples he so carefully peeled and chopped are inedible mush, and for some reason half the pie remains undercooked while the other half is burnt.

Castiel is at a loss over how to fix everything that went wrong because _everything_ went wrong. He considers checking the internet for how to bake a pie, but Dean and Sam took their laptops with them and Bobby's computer is _buggered and screwed like a five-dollar whore_ until someone with some computer savvy takes a look it.

Bobby loses patience with him and orders him to go to bed and sleep on it, which Castiel does, but it's a restless and fitful night. He misses having Dean next to him, and worries off and on until Dean texts him just after 2am to let him know they took care of the chupacabra and probably won't be home until early evening because Sam wants to check out a local park. Relieved, by both their safety and the knowledge he'll have most of the following day to try his hand at baking again, Castiel rolls onto his side and attempts to sleep.

The following morning, he wakes late and shuffles into the kitchen to find Bobby…cleaning. Castiel stands there and watches the older man as he wipes down the countertop next to the sink. Puzzled, he asks, "Did I leave a mess from the baking yesterday? I thought I cleared it all away adequately, but if I didn't, I do apologize."

Bobby throws his dishcloth to the far side of the counter. "Nah, I just wanted to straighten up some more because company's coming."

Crestfallen, Castiel reaches for the coffeepot. "Oh. I had hoped to attempt baking another pie, but if you're entertaining a friend I will of course stay out of your way."

Bobby chuckles. "That's why my friend is coming over. I called up my neighbor first thing and asked if she'd be willing to drop by and show you how it's done. She was falling over herself to help out, especially since it's her cousin's town the boys went to go take care of."

Castiel opens his mouth to thank Bobby, but before the words can come out there's a knock on the frame of the screen door. He watches as a look akin to that of a trapped jackrabbit being cornered by a salivating wolf flits across Bobby's face, before the man straightens his shoulders and strides past Castiel. "Just remember you _owe_ me for this one," he hisses.

Castiel listens as Bobby greets his neighbor through the screen. "Mornin', Marcy, I really appre—"

"Bobby Singer, it's about time you invited me over to meet your family! I mean, not in a meet-the-family kind of way, but in a we-should-get-to-know-each-other-better kind of way. I hope it's okay that I brought all my baking supplies and all the ingredients, I already had those because I was planning on baking a cherry pie to bring to your nephews to thank them for helping Rita out anyways, so this way I can _really_ thank them by giving them the gift that keeps on giving, you know, you can give a man a fish, but if you teach him how to fish you've fed him for life, or something like that, so anyway, is this your nephew's _special_ friend?"

Marcy Ward breezes into the kitchen as she's talking and stops in front of Castiel, smiling. Castiel can feel his eyes widen in fear, and he quickly schools his face to hide it, since he knows that showing fear will only make this worse. He holds his hand out to introduce himself like Sam once showed him, but she bats it away.

"Oh, pshaw! We're going to be getting to know each other _really_ well this morning, so we might as well start out on the right foot!"

She throws her bags onto the table and wraps her arms around Castiel in a hug not dissimilar to the hugs given by Cupid. "I'm sorry," she babbles on, "but I was just so happy when Bobby called me asking for help that I'm going overboard!" She pulls back to look at Castiel, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. "It gets kind of lonely out here sometimes, so it's nice when neighbors reach out to each other, you know?"

Castiel smiles at that. He does understand loneliness. "Yes, I can imagine." He holds his hand out again. "I'm Castiel. And you're Ms. Ward?"

She smiles back, wide and pleased, and clasps his hand. "You can call me Marcy."

Castiel nods, looks over towards the supplies and ingredients that Marcy brought with her. "Shall we get started?" he ventures. "I hate to take up too much of your time."

"Oh, this is the least I can do after Bobby's nephews went to take care of that problem in Redfield. I know Rita was real scared that wild dog was going to kill her schnauzer." She begins pulling supplies out of a duffel bag.

"It's more likely the beast would have gone for something bigger," Castiel corrects her. "Like Rita herself."

Marcy pauses and turns to look at him, her eyes blinking in confusion. "What did you say?"

Realizing his error, Castiel clears his throat. "My apologies. My sense of humor is a little dark at times."

"Oh!" She starts giggling. "It's my fault, sometimes I'm just too naive and gullible." She reaches a finger out to poke him in the ribs. "I can see you'll be keeping me on my toes."

She pulls out a bag of flour, what looks like a saltshaker, and a couple of sticks of butter. "You need to pop the butter in the freezer for a little bit, before we get started on the crust."

Castiel's brow furrows curiously as he follows her directions. "Why?"

Marcy spares him an indulgent glance as she produces a large mixing bowl and two smaller bowls from her duffel. "Because if it's not cold your dough won't stick together properly when you're making it, honey. And most important, if everything's nice and cold, you get a flakier crust."

She spins around as she speaks, crosses to the sink and fills one of the small bowls with water, before she opens the refrigerator door and scoops up a palm full of ice cubes from the icebox. Dropping the cubes in the water, she sets the bowl inside the refrigerator.

"Well, that was my first mistake then, yesterday," Castiel tells her regretfully. "The recipe I was working off of said nothing about that." He pours himself a cup of coffee, pulling another mug out of the pantry when he spies Marcy's eyes lighting up at the sight.

"Yes, that's a rookie mistake. Most old recipes don't explain it because they assume anyone baking a pie would know something as basic as that."

"I suppose it's a good thing that Bobby has you as a neighbor, then." Castiel smiles as he watches the woman blush.

"Oh shush. Now let's pit us some cherries!"

A half-hour later, Marcy has walked Castiel through the basics of pitting cherries, using a paper clip instead of wasting good money on a cherry pitter, an ingenious idea that Castiel feels Dean would appreciate. Next, she pulls the dough ingredients from the freezer and demonstrates shaving the butter on a grater, before placing it back in the freezer for a few minutes while Castiel sifts the flour and salt with an intriguing device she describes as a sieve.

"Sifting it makes it easier to mix it all evenly," she smiles, as she retrieves the bowl of ice water from the refrigerator and sets it down. "Now we fold it all together." She lifts up Castiel's nearest hand and plops it down into the chilled liquid. "Cold hands, remember?" she trills happily. "Just do that every few minutes while you mix it all up – then your butter won't melt!"

Marcy Ward is as good a teacher as Dean is, Castiel realizes. She teaches him to work quickly yet patiently, not rushing the dough as he kneads it out on the surface of the counter. Every so often she sprinkles a little flour out, to keep the dough from sticking to the work surface as Castiel folds and coaxes it to perfection. Castiel finds that he enjoys this process much more than he expected to, the motions as he works the dough with his fingers relaxing and almost sensual. He says as much to Marcy, garnering an odd look from the woman, before he hears her mumble under her breath, _the last thing I need is to find food even sexier than I already do_.

Once he has the dough even and uniform, Marcy clucks her tongue in approval. "Now split it in half and mold each half into a disc shape. Once you do that, we'll snuggle it in some plastic wrap and set it back in the fridge while we make the filling."

Castiel does as he's told, sparing a moment to wipe his forehead and push his long bangs out of his eyes. He sighs in exasperation as he realizes that he has probably just spread flour and chunks of dough over his face and throughout his hair.

"That's one of the hazards of the job," Marcy tells him. She studies him, and smiles brightly. "If you want, I can stop by with my scissors in the week, trim that for you?"

"No thank you, that won't be necessary," Castiel refuses politely. "Dean told me he likes having something to hang onto."

Her eyes go huge, her cheeks stain scarlet, and she makes a slight choking noise.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asks quickly.

"Yes," she yelps, and she swivels away suddenly, to clatter her way through Bobby's cupboards in turn, before pulling out a large saucepan and setting it on the stovetop. "Now let's go ahead and combine all of our liquid ingredients into this pan and get our sugar dissolved," she says breathlessly, and Castiel can't help noticing that she is examining his hair again, in a way that might be speculative. "Then we can add our cherries and start thickening things up," she goes on cheerfully after a moment.

She walks him through all the ingredients step-by-step, laughing when Castiel exclaims in dismay at how much sugar goes into a pie.

"I put less than a half-cup into the apple pie I made last night, and even that seemed excessive given the size of the pie."

Marcy huffs in amusement. "That's why pie is so popular – it's filled to the brim with sweetness."

"I think perhaps I should start looking for less sugary alternatives, because at the rate Dean eats pie he'll have type-2 diabetes by the time he's forty," Castiel scowls as he stirs the pot.

Marcy flaps her hands. "Well, I think that's between you and him. But there are sweetening alternatives, just so you know for future reference. Like Stevia." She nudges him. "I call it Stevia Nicks. I'll make up a list for you sometime."

Glancing up from the saucepan, Castiel smiles warmly. "Thank you, Marcy. I appreciate all that you've done, and I'm sure Dean's waistline and his arteries will appreciate Stevia Nicks."

"Oh, silly. It's the least I can do." She glances towards the den, where Bobby ran off to almost as soon as she walked into the house, begging off for research. "You know, sometimes I get the feeling that if it weren't for Bobby looking out for the neighborhood, bad things might happen," she whispers to Castiel conspiratorially. "I know he likes to pretend he's a gruff old man and doesn't want to be bothered, but deep down sometimes I get the feeling he's lonely."

Castiel follows her gaze, watching as Bobby hunches over a book and scribbles something in the margin. "I wouldn't be surprised if he does, especially when we've been away for longer than usual," he replies. He returns a watchful eye to the pan, where the cherry filling is bubbling and thickening as they speak. "You'll just have to stop by occasionally and make sure he doesn't get _too_ lonely."

Marcy giggles and pinches his elbow. "Oh, you. Bobby would probably just chase me off if I did." Castiel watches as she sneaks a look at him out of the corner of her eye. "Besides, how would I know if you've been away a long time? It's not like he calls me up to chat or anything."

Castiel tilts his head. "If you gave me your number perhaps I could call to inform you of it."

"Why Castiel, if I didn't know better I'd think you were just using that as an excuse to chat me up yourself!" She laughs and blushes again, turning away to wipe off the counter next to them.

As Castiel watches her, an abrupt feeling of fondness surges up inside him. "No, but I think we could all use more friends, don't you?" he ventures cautiously.

She stops her cleaning, eyes flitting up to meet his in surprise. "I could use a friend, yes," she says, and her voice has gone, thoughtful and quiet.

There is something gentle about the woman in that moment, something maternal, Castiel realizes. It's comforting and warm, and Castiel suddenly feels an overwhelming sense of loss on behalf of the Winchesters, denied this feeling for most of their lives. There's so much about their world that is unfair, but this cuts the deepest and he suspects it has had the most lasting impression. It makes Castiel want to cling to this feeling, to learn how to provide what comfort and warmth he can for Dean. "Marcy, could this friendship include you teaching me how to bake other kinds of pie? I'd like to learn how to bake all of Dean's favorites, though I fear that may take some time given how many variations he loves."

Marcy's mouth curls up into a different kind of smile, a smile that's barely there but which manages to light up her eyes and her face. She stands on her tiptoes to sling her arms around Castiel's shoulders and pull him into an embrace. "It's a deal."

  


Once the filling has cooled, Marcy shows Castiel how to flatten the dough out with the rolling pin, shaping it to the pie plate and cutting the excess off with scissors. Next, she teaches him how to slice the other disc of dough into strips with a sharp disc-like device that must surely be some kind of ancient sacrificial blade, but which turns out to be a pizza cutter, before demonstrating how to weave the strips into a lattice across the top of the cherry filling. Lastly, she explains how brushing the dough with a mixture of egg and heavy cream makes the crust bake to a gorgeous golden brown.

Once he's done following her instructions, they pop the pie into the oven.

"Forty-five minutes or so," she tells him, as she pulls on her jacket.

"You should stay to have some," he tells her, but she shakes her head with a smile.

"I don't want to intrude on family time. Besides, I've got some baking of my own to get done. The church is having a bake sale, and I'm determined to sell more than that awful Mrs. Blankenship down the road."

"I can smite her for you if that would help?" Castiel offers, as she heads for the hallway.

"Oh, you!" she sings back cheerfully. At the front door, she pulls him into another hug. "You take care of yourself and those boys. Bobby doesn't say much, but I know you all mean the world to him."

Castiel hesitantly wraps his arms around the woman. "I will, of course. And…you'll check in on him, yes?"

"I'll do my best." She stands on her toes again to look over Castiel's shoulder at Bobby, who's hovering at the kitchen door, doing his best to look busy. "Goodbye, Bobby," she calls out a little shyly. "You still need to stop by and let me make you some chicken and dumplings one evening!"

Bobby jumps and points a guilty expression at them. "Sure thing, Marcy. You take care driving home, and I'll come see about that rusty pipe sometime next week."

Marcy blushes and waves goodbye to both of them. Castiel watches her climb into her car with her supplies and drive off down the road. He turns to go back into the house and catches Bobby standing just inside the screen door, watching the car creep towards the gate.

"Rusty pipe, Bobby?" Castiel asks, with a mischievous smirk. "Will you be lubing that too?"

Bobby's eyes go slitty and mean. "Shut your trap and go watch the pie so it doesn't burn."

  


That afternoon, Bobby decides to go ahead and cook up the pot roast so that the brothers will have a hot supper waiting for them when they get back. The house had been filled with the smells of cherry pie, but once he starts with the roast and vegetables, the more savory scents prevail. Castiel decides to use that to his advantage, so that he can surprise Dean with the pie for dessert.

Dean and Sam make it back just as the sun dips below the horizon. The house had been silent all day but for the muted sounds of cooking in the kitchen, the peace and coziness a welcome respite from the bleakness that living in cheap motels provides. The house had been feeling hushed, almost as if it was holding its breath in anticipation of the return of the inevitable noise and bustle that follow the Winchester boys everywhere.

Castiel knew how the house felt.

Sam busts through the front door first, yelling at Dean over his shoulder. "I don't care, Dean! No matter how funny you think it is, it wasn't cool."

Castiel watches from his seat on the couch as Sam throws his overnight bag on the floor and fixes him with a glare.

"He told the waitress where we ate last night that beans give me anal leakage."

Castiel sighs. "That is unfortunate," he commiserates. "Perhaps you should do some research on medications to prevent it, as well as take steps to ensure he doesn't inform Mira about this?"

Sam's glower ratchets up a notch. "It isn't _true_ , Cas." He hefts his bag up again, stalks over to the stairs. "Not cool, Dean," he hollers again as he disappears from view.

Castiel hears Dean laughing outside as he slams the trunk of the Impala and stomps up the stairs of the porch. "That's where you're wrong, Sammy," he mocks as he swings open the screen door and shuffles into the house. "It was very cool and very worth it. That look on your face was worth a month of itching powder in my shorts." He squints down the hallway. "Bobby! That better be pot roast I'm smellin'!"

He throws his duffel down beside the bottom step of the staircase and turns into the den, catching sight of Castiel. He moves as if to say something, but pauses, leans on the doorjamb, and stares at Castiel across the room for several long seconds. As Bobby creaks up behind him, Dean smiles slowly at Castiel, eyes crinkling in fondness, before winking at him and turning away. "Hey old man, how's it hangin'?"

"To the left and crusty, now clean up your mess and set your asses down for supper, we've been slavin' all day." Bobby takes a swipe at the back of Dean's head as he walks by, eliciting a yelp out of him.

After the brothers have put away their bags and washed their hands, they sit down at the kitchen table for supper. They give Bobby and Castiel the lowdown on the chupacabra hunt between bites, complaining about how the local townsfolk kept getting in the way, trying to help and offering unsolicited advice on the pack habits of coyotes and wild dogs.

"Sammy ended up telling them the critter had rabies," Dean smirks. "We told them we'd have to call out the CDC to give them all shots in their asses if they got bit."

"So what park did you stop off at on the way back?" Bobby asks as he starts to clear away the dishes.

Dean starts cackling as Sam scowls. "Dean, just shut up."

Castiel watches as Dean begins to laugh harder. "No, go ahead and tell 'em, Sam. I dare you."

Sam rolls his eyes and mumbles, "It was Lake Thompson."

Bobby turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. "Lake Thompson? Why'd you want to go see that?"

Sam crosses his arms and watches as Dean grins at him across the table. "You know if you don't tell them, I will," Dean says. "So might as well go ahead and say it."

" _Fine_. It's because Laura Ingalls Wilder once lived there."

Dean leans back in his chair and wraps his arms around his stomach, face turning red from laughing so hard. "Sammy is a _Little House on the Prairie_ fanboy," he crows.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam replies hotly. "They're literary classics, and you'd know that if you bothered to read in school."

"Oh now, Sammy, don't go getting your pretty floral bonnet all in a twist, you know Manly doesn't like it when you're all wrinkled—"

"Aha! How did you know there's a character called Manly?"

Castiel watches as Sam beams across the table at his brother, pointing his finger at him in victory, and there is something that warms him, the inclusion of himself in this family, _their_ family, and this process of being there for each other, teasing. There is love in it, and being included in that love, after all that's happened, leaves him feeling content, humbled and in awe.

"Shut up," Dean scoffs. "I watched reruns when I was bored. At least I'm not stalking where she used to live."

"Well, actually, you are, since you went with me," Sam grins.

"Whatever, I bet you stay up late at night designing prairie dresses to wear to the cotillion, and—"

"Will you two cool it and help me clear off this table? Supper ain't done yet, but if I have to listen to the two of you acting like four-year-olds much longer, I may just throw out dessert before you get a chance to eat it." Bobby spares a smile at Castiel to let him know he's not serious, and Castiel nods at him gratefully.

"Aw, Bobby, did you go all out and buy us dessert?" Dean says distractedly as he reaches across the table, collecting utensils and throwing them on his plate.

Castiel uses the opportunity to walk over to the cabinet hiding the pie. He retrieves it from its hiding place, along with pie plates and forks. "No, actually, it was me," he offers nervously. "I baked a pie."

He sets the pie plate in front of Dean, and watches as confusion and disbelief cross his friend's face.

"Wait...what? You baked this? All by yourself? From _scratch_?" Dean stares up at Castiel, jaw hanging open.

Castiel smiles and shifts to place a plate and fork in front of each seat. "Well, Marcy Ward taught me how, but yes, I did it myself." When he turns to glance at Dean again, he sees that Dean is staring at the pie, his left hand gripping the edge of the table, white-knuckled and tense.

"Hey, Cas, you want to do whipped cream or ice cream for the pie?" Sam asks, oblivious to Dean's reaction.

Cas glances up at Sam, murmurs, "Either-or…" When he looks back down at Dean, he sees him blinking rapidly, his eyes glassy. Castiel reaches forward to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Dean, are you—"

"I need some air."

Dean jumps up and strides out of the kitchen and onto the porch, the screen door squeaking closed behind him.

Alarmed, Castiel looks to Sam, and then Bobby. "Is he mad at me?"

Sam smiles a little. "He's not mad, Cas."

Bobby shrugs, mumbles, "Boy does like his pie," before turning back around to finish loading up the sink with dishes.

Castiel clears off the rest of the table before deciding to follow Dean onto the porch. When he steps out, the old floorboards creak, signaling his presence, but Dean doesn't turn around, just continues to lean against the railing, staring out at the visible stars in the early night sky.

Castiel doesn't speak, just sidles next to Dean. Though their bodies aren't touching, Castiel makes sure to get close enough that his warmth seeps into Dean, and he can feel Dean's in return. He listens to Dean breathing, and can sense when Dean attempts to speak but fails. He wants to give Dean his space, knows that it's what Dean needs, as always, but he can't help himself when he slides his fingers up and along Dean's back to rub slow, light, reassuring circles around the knobs of his spine.

Several moments pass until Dean finally speaks. "No one's ever baked me pie before, Cas. Not since my mom."

Castiel stops rubbing along Dean's spine to hook his arm around his waist, his fingers hanging off his hip. When Dean wraps his arm around his shoulders to pull him in, Castiel lays his head against him and breathes him in.

"I think that's one reason why I've always loved pie so much," Dean whispers. "Because it reminded me of my mom. And of _before_. Before she…before all the shit started happening."

Castiel squeezes his hand along Dean's hip. "I'm glad I'm the only other person to make it for you," he says.

Dean sighs and pulls him closer. "Yeah, me too."

They stand together for a moment, still and quiet. Then, "I rather enjoyed making it," Castiel confides. "I think it's given me a better understanding of why you like to create and fix things so much. We spend so much time killing and destroying, it feels good to be able to create."

"Yeah, can I tell you a secret?" Dean mutters into Castiel's hair.

"Of course," Castiel glances at Dean before closing his eyes again.

"Sometimes, if I let myself think about it, which isn't often because it's just jinxing it, but sometimes I think that if we ever get past all this, and ever get to the point where we don't have to do so much killing and world-saving, I'd like us to find a house somewhere."

Dean's voice has gone wistful and soft as he speaks, as if he's drifting into a daydream. "Maybe a farm. Or a cabin out in some woods, like that one we got snowed into at Christmas, or even a beach house somewhere. Just – somewhere we could settle down. Maybe take up carpentry, build us some furniture, hell, maybe even make a living at it…or get a job restoring cars or something. Have Sam move in with us, or maybe it'd be better for him to get his own place next door, so we don't kill each other and he doesn't have to wear ear plugs when we get noisy…"

Castiel laughs at that.

"…But I don't know," Dean continues. "Just…somewhere peaceful, somewhere we could have a quiet life. Everybody together, and happy, and building things, making things. Maybe going on a hunt every once in a while, but not living out of motels anymore."

Castiel remains quiet, contemplating it all. They've been so busy and on the run, just trying to stay alive for so long, it's difficult to imagine a life like Dean is describing. But he likes it. "I could grow a garden," he ventures.

"Damn straight you could grow a garden. I'd fucking insist on it." Castiel can feel Dean smile into his cheek as he's pulled in even closer. "And Claire could come visit you."

"Are you two knuckleheads coming in here to have some pie, or are we going to have to eat it without you?" Bobby bellows from inside.

Dean kisses the hinge of Castiel's jaw and whispers against his skin, "Thanks, Cas," before pulling away. "If you touch my pie it'll be the last thing you do, old man," he hollers back.

Castiel grins and follows Dean inside.

  



End file.
